𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄 ▸ HUNGER GAMES [ 1 ]

ELEVEN

ELEVEN -

I don't know how long we stay like that for, but it takes every ounce of control left in me to finally untangle myself from his arms. I could've stayed there, wanted to even, but it's not worth it. Not worth being pulled closer to him than my actions today have already brought me.

I refused to back down when Brutus came for him. I know I shouldn't have, it was a stupid and reckless move, but after everything I've seen since we arrived in the Capitol – that third, hidden side of Cato Hadley that's such a far cry from not just District 2's crown prince but my friendly rival from the Academy too – I was powerless to stop myself.

Reaching out to the boy who will join me in a fight to the death within the week is perhaps the worst thing I have ever done, and something deep inside tells me I am standing on dangerously thin ice. If it breaks, there is no going back. I can't deny that I've grown surprisingly attached to my District partner over the last week, in more ways than I ever thought possible, but only one of us will see the mountains of 2 again, and it will be me.

I vow it, not just for myself, but for Loren too.

I clasp my hand around my sister's pendant until the sharp edges of the metal dig into my palm, and it motivates me into coaxing Cato into the bathroom. I jab a couple of the buttons on the shower until the water runs warm and tell him to get himself cleaned up whilst I set to work gathering the pieces of glass scattered across the carpet. The jagged shards are razor sharp, edged with drying blood, and I take extra care not to injure myself as I gingerly deposit each one into the trash.

At some point Sidonia knocks on the door and I let her in. She doesn't ask what happened but helps me pick up the last remnants of the portrait and reset the blankets. Once I've kicked the empty wooden frame under the bed it's like nothing ever happened, the only anomaly in the room the cracked vase atop the dresser.

This is the story we tell the medic Sidonia calls to take a look at Cato's hand – that he knocked the vase over, it smashed, and he cut himself trying to pick it up. At first she doesn't seem to buy it, but then Cato turns on the charm, that overbearing yet frighteningly attractive persona that has captivated so many of the girls back in 2, and it seems even citizens of the Capitol are susceptible. She leaves us clearly flustered and with a rouge creeping up her powder white cheeks.

I disappear to my room after that. I doubt I'll be the one to end up filling Sidonia in on the situation – at some point Brutus will be back in the apartment, with more than enough information on how I mindlessly defended my District partner.

I have to keep reminding myself of my father's and Loren's last words to me on Reaping day, to stop myself from running out into the corridor to knock at Cato's room. The desire to check if he's okay is unrelenting, so much so that I'm pacing up and down the aisle between my bed and the dresser, unable to push the image of him with his dead eyes, knelt amongst the glass like he might shatter himself at any moment out of my head.

At some point I must give up trying and spin the lock free on my door. I don't make my way over to Cato's room but into the living area. I'm hoping there might be at least one Avox still waiting around the apartment even though the sun has long since faded from the sky, replaced with milky moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A tea or some other hot drink is just what I need to calm my mind before I have to go to bed. Tomorrow is preparation day for the interviews, and I'm not sure whether my sleep deprived brain will be able to deal with a full eight hours of Tallulah and Sidonia without wanting to stab either of them by the end of it.

There are no Avoxes stood to attention around the apartment, but Cato is sprawled on one of the purple couches in front of the television. He's got the rerun of the scores announcement playing, Caesar Flickerman's upbeat voice reading out a five for the redhead girl who reminded me of Aviva Grigson on the Reaping programme. The name posted beneath her photo is Finch, and I realise it suits her. Up close, her resemblance to the Mayor's daughter ends with her fiery hair, but I presume Cato finds some comfort at least in the memory of that.